Cut
by andersex
Summary: Everyone has their demons...Blaine Anderson's are just easier to hide. Warning: Major Triggers


**Title: **Cut  
**Character: **Blaine Anderson  
**AU  
Pairing: **Onesided-ish Klaine

Blaine Anderson was known for many things, including but not limited to, his impeccable grooming, his dignified voice, his role of prominence within both the LGBT community and the Dalton community, and his relationships with his peers and the adults with the community. On paper he was the perfect student, perfect son, and perfect example of someone you could be aspire to be like...a role model. So it was no surprise that Kurt Hummel had practically attached himself to the dapper and confident male the day that they'd met on the staircase, and it was no surprise that Kurt ended up falling for him. Blaine wanted to reciprocate the feelings, more than he'd wanted anything else in the world...but they just weren't there. So he pretended. He would smile and say all the right things, the things that he knew Kurt wanted to hear, as he floated through life as a ghost of the self he was believed to be. No one saw the Blaine Anderson that lay in bed staring at the ceiling every night, wishing that he could will himself to sleep even though he knew it was not going to happen. No one saw the frown lines that appeared on his brow and the infinite sadness that reached his eyes when he was alone in the seclusion of his room.

No one saw it coming, which was why it was easy to hide.

It started out simple, a mishap in the senior commons. The Warblers had just finished practice and he was collecting the sheet music, hissing out in pain when one of the papers caught his skin and tore it open, drops of red falling onto the paper. He stared at in, transfixed by the red on white, eyes wide as he realized that he was _feeling _something. Everything had been numb and distant for so long that the idea of feeling something, even something as simple as pain, made it easier to go on with his day like everything was fine. That day was one of the most bearable that he'd had in a really long time. He played video games with Wes and David, kissed Kurt for the first time, and went back to his dorm room with a smile on his face until the door closed behind him. It was exhausting to keep up the charade, but the adrenaline rush he'd felt from seeing his own blood leaving his body had made things bearable. After that first time he tried to go back to pretending like he had before, but now it was almost _impossible _to do so...and people were starting to notice. He and Kurt had been watching a movie together when the countertenor had looked over at him, touching the side of his face gently as he asked what was wrong. Blaine had managed to convince him that he was fine but he'd realized after the fact that his cool mask of indifference and fake feelings of happiness weren't fooling anyone anymore.

He hadn't come up with a plan of action until the next morning, when his hand accidentally slipped when he was shaving and he nicked the skin of his neck. He watched in the mirror as a drop of blood bubbled out of the cut and dripped down his cheek, his eyes fixated on the crimson blood as it ran down his cheek and onto his hand. He closed his eyes as a feeling of relief washed over him, as if the pressure on his chest had lifted and he was able to breathe for the first time. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again, looking at his reflection in the mirror and seeing a hint of the old Blaine reflecting back at him. The old Blaine had been _happy, _had been proud of who he was and had been unafraid of the oppressors who wanted to silence him. The old Blaine had been someone to look up to; someone who should be considered a role model...the new Blaine was just a weaker shell of the old Blaine. He could see his roommate staring at him as he looked in the mirror, and he quickly busied himself in cleaning the blood up as he finished shaving, setting the razor down on the counter and mentally reassuring himself that he would return to it later.

Later that night he went into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, heading over to the shower and running it as he approached the counter. He gripped the sides of the porcelain sink as he looked up at his reflection, touching the side of his face gently as he looked at his features. The frown lines on his brow, the tight line that his lips were always in, the way his eyebrows seemed to droop with an intense sense of sadness that reflected out from his eyes that no longer sparkled like they once had. He tore his gaze away from his reflection as it fell upon the razor, picking it up and holding it in his hand as he stared at it contemplatively before throwing it at the wall, not even wincing when it broke into pieces. He sank down to his knees and reached forward, picking up the broken pieces in his hand as he threw them into the garbage can...all of them except the blades. He fingered the three blades in his hand as he set one down on the edge of the sink, stashing the other two in his toiletry bag as he carefully sat down on the floor. He looked behind him to ensure that the door was locked as he turned the blade over between his fingers, the shine of the metal catching his eyes as he undid the loop on his belt, shedding it as he pulled his pants down and off of his body. He did the same with his boxers until he was sitting on the floor with his naked body exposed, the blade still resting in his palm. He picked it up and, without hesitating, quickly drew it across the top of his thigh. He let out a tiny sigh, not sure if it was from relief or pain, as he watched droplets of blood appear on his thigh as the cut started to bleed. He watched it in amazement, finally feeling like he was able to breathe properly for the first time in months. He tossed his head back and closed his eyes as the endorphins from making the cut ran through him, lowering the blade down to his skin once more as he made a series of cuts. He stood up on shaky legs as he stepped into the shower, leaning up against the wall as he watched rivets of crimson run down his thigh and down the drain.

For the first time in a really long time, he smiled genuinely.

This went on for months without anyone finding out. He went to all of his classes and excelled, attended various rallies and groups that discussed the rights and freedoms of LGBT teens in Ohio, went out on dates with Kurt and said all the things he knew that he wanted to hear, and he could be in a room full of people and not feel like a total complete robot. All he would have to do is run the blade across his skin a few times a week and he would be fine, it would be bearable to deal with people on an everyday basis. Everything was going fine until the day Kurt ran his hand up his thigh when they were kissing on his bed, causing him to hiss in pain as Kurt's fingers pressed down against a new series of cuts that he'd forgotten had been there. He felt Kurt pull back from the kiss as he stared at him in confusion, unaware as to why Blaine had made the noise that he had, as Blaine tried to make him forget when he pressed their lips together once more with forced enthusiasm, frowning when Kurt pulled back again and crossed his arms over his chest. Kurt was insistent. He cried and he screamed and he shouted, demanding that Blaine open up to him and just tell him what was wrong, but he refused and politely asked Kurt to leave. Kurt stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, as Blaine got up off of the bed and headed into the bathroom. He didn't even bother to close the door behind him, knowing that Thad wouldn't be home for hours, as he stared at his reflection darkly before lashing out and punching the mirror, wincing when his reflection cracked and the glass pierced his knuckles. He looked down at it and let out a sigh of relief, thankful that this was one cut he wouldn't have to hide and would be able to wear with pride, as he sank down to his knees and started to pick up the shards of glass that had fallen to the floor. He threw all of the pieces but one into the garbage can, shedding his blazer jack and shirt as he fingered the shard of glass in his palm before running it across the inside of his bicep. He closed his eyes to enjoy the rush of endorphins that always engulfed his body after making a cut but was jolted from his calm state when he felt someone pushing him against the cabinet under the sink. His eyes shot open and widened as he saw a horrified Kurt holding the shard of glass that had been in his own hands just moments ago, Kurt's body shaking as he stared at Blaine in horror. The usual questions spilled out of his mouth: What did you do? When did this start? Why did you do it? Did I have something to do with this? How can I help you? He furrowed his brow and bit back all of the scathing and condescending remarks that he could utter as he crossed his legs underneath of him, not liking the way that Kurt's eyes were fixated on his thigh. He tried to reassure the countertenor that he was fine, that nothing was wrong, but even he knew that his words weren't having any effect on the look of horror in Kurt's eyes.

Kurt wanted him to get help...he didn't understand that the cutting _was _the help. The old Blaine would have told the truth, would have told Kurt about the constant feeling of numbness and how _good _it felt to feel something even if it was just pain...but the new Blaine didn't do that. The new Blaine agreed to go to counselling, agreed to try to get better while knowing all the while that he wouldn't. The new Blaine went to therapy, promised Kurt that he would stop hurting himself, and in the dark of night would sneak into his bathroom to perform the constant ritual that allowed him to retain his sanity. Whenever they would go further than kissing and Kurt would see the scars, Blaine would patiently remind him that it was in the past and that it was no longer necessary to worry about him. He was always very conscientious of placing his new scars in places that Kurt would never find him, and this worked well until his 21st birthday when he went out drinking with Kurt and his two best friends from Dalton. He'd never touched a drop of alcohol before in his life and had no idea that it would affect him in the way it did, making the ability to fake his happiness next to impossible as he had to excuse himself in the middle of the party to go to the bathroom and make the numbness disappear. Kurt may have trusted him, but he wasn't stupid. They got into yet another momentous fight as Kurt threatened him with everything he could think of, finally yelling out that if Blaine didn't stop what he was doing to himself than he would leave.

...and Blaine told him to do it.

He would only admit it in his darkest of hours, when even the cuts weren't enough to force a smile onto his face, that maybe pushing Kurt away hadn't been his wisest decision. Though he hadn't love him and had been forcing himself to put a show every day for the countertenor, at least being with Kurt had given him a reason to get out of bed in the mornings.

...now he wasn't quite sure what his reason was anymore.


End file.
